Wayward Electricians
by tildemarco
Summary: Fluffy little one-shot: Hermione is stuck waiting for the electricians to come bring the power back to their sweltering flat. Harry comes home early for a nice cool bath.


Wayward Electricians – by tildemarco

A/N: This is a fluffy little oneshot that I wrote while... you guessed it! Waiting for electricians to show up.

Sweat trickled down her back, so much that it didn't even tickle anymore. The AC was shot, the refrigerator was starting to smell, she hadn't been able to charge her phone, and the wifi was missing in action. And it's only three days into a week-long heat wave. Both Ron and Harry had places to be during the day, granting them respite from the heat. All the while, Hermione was stuck on the sofa waiting for the electricians, who seemed to share several essential characteristics with Godot.

In reality, Hermione knew that ninety degrees wasn't a bad average for the long London summer. But when the air conditioning bit the proverbial dust, it changed from being "not bad" to "god-awful" and "just absolutely horrendous" and "increasingly malodorous" and "a bit shit". She'd thrown a lamp at Ron the night before for the inclusion of that last one. A whole lamp.

Needless to say, Hermione was not dealing with the situation as well as could be hoped.

And thus, she spent her last seventy-two hours sprawled on the sofa with her back to the window, shutters open all the way to let in both the light and the soft breeze, making her way through _Corruptus Incorrupti: Curse Breaking, De-Hexing, and the Dissolution of Glamours_ for the third time in her life. The tome was notoriously dense, and in the heat, she found herself resting the text on the arm of the sofa and resting her head on the text. If she really started to tear her hair out, she had a lovely novelette about pirates to distract her, but right now a nap seemed in order…

A key in the lock alerted her heat-addled mind to an interloper… Do interlopers generally possess keys? … an interloper who entered the flat hidden from her view by the high sofa back. Her head jerked up, a thin vellum page unceremoniously stuck to her cheek. She put her head back down. She knew she _should_ sit up, but she couldn't seem to manage the necessary level of willpower to execute such an action. _Maybe it's one of my pirates_ , her mind whispered dreamily, completely of its own accord.

The interloper (or pirate, or cat burglar, whoever he was) stepped around the couch behind her head, clicked his tongue (definitely a he) and said, "'Mione, how are you still alive? This place is an oven."

"Not quite, dashing stranger, but getting close."

A chuckle. "Have you gone mad laying there? Perhaps the electricians have come and gone and you simply haven't noticed."

He stepped around the couch, slipped a hand under her bare knees, and sat beneath them, nimble fingers following the muscles in her right calf down to her ankle and foot, rubbing deftly.

"Quite mad… Though if our wayward electricians had arrived, I assure you, one of them would be sitting where you are right now..." Hermione's words trickled off into a soft moan as he massaged the arch of her foot. Harry hadn't rubbed her feet like this in several agonizing days, and she had pouted over the neglect.

"That's it, Hermione. This is unacceptable. Your brain is _cottage cheese_. How can you expect me to survive this Muggle London flat, which _you_ insisted on, with a fiancée whose brain is _cottage cheese?_ "

Harry pushed her legs off his lap and stood, one arm scooping up under her knees, the other claiming her ribcage. Her chosen tome of the afternoon fell indelicately to the carpet under the coffee table, and her proximity to heat exhaustion was indicated by the fact that she didn't even protest. Her head snuggled into Harry's clavicle and she took a deep, comforting breath of his scent. Woodsy, with a hint of vanilla and smoke.

Her eyes drifted shut and she woke to the feeling of cool tile pressing against her back. Only moments had passed, but she found herself sitting on the tiled floor of the washroom, sunbeams pouring in from the skylight, the bath running, and Harry working the buttons of his white shirt open. His tie hanging loose on his shoulders. His hair even more mussed than usual. His eyes dancing as he tilts his head, waiting for her to remember she's not asleep.

One eyebrow quirked.

"So this is heaven. Should have held out for the claw foot tub."

"She lives!" He laughed, a deep rumble that made Hermione's head spin. But then he's helping her to her feet and slowly, carefully, sliding her top over her head. She kicked off her sleep shorts and he held her waist as she stepped into the cool bath. She hissed through her teeth, but didn't move to jump out.

Sliding into the bath has never felt so good before. Harry's hands on her waist were warm and sure. She grabbed at his wrists to forestall any attempts to not join her in the rapidly filling tub, and he obliged. He had to extract one hand from her grasp to shuck his trousers and boxers, but he managed and they slipped into the cool water together.

Resting her head on his clavicle once again, they sunk together, the water slithering up their overheated skin. He traced patterns on her submerged belly. She lifted a foot to crank the tap with her toes, and the flow of water trickled to a halt.

The silence is peaceful.

Until…

"So, if the wayward electricians show up, you're dealing with that, right Harry darling?"

"… Of course, Hermione dear. Of course."


End file.
